Cleaning Up
by NomadiCat
Summary: Winston always seems to find himself cleaning up Guerrero’s messes. Post-Sanctuary, pre-Run.


Winston glared at the bills piled on his desk. They were sorted haphazardly into stacks of "first notice", "second notice", "final notice", and "our guys will be over tomorrow to break your kneecaps". Sighing, he wrenched open his desk and groped blindly for a roll of antacids.

_Shush crinkle shush crinkle shush crinkle SQUISH_

"The _hell_…?" Winston snarled, yanking at the drawer until it was lying in his lap. A sea of empty, mangled candy wrappers and a lone stray banana peel stared back at him. "Dammit, Guerrero!" Muttering darkly, the beleaguered ex-cop began shoveling the remains of Guerrero's latest visit into the trash. "I swear, that man is a squirrel. Nuts, and always shoving stuff into weird places." His hand clamped around the rotting banana peel and it oozed between his fingers, dripping bits of desiccated banana pulp over his blotter and the phone.

"And of course it has to be in _my_ desk. Can't stay in the conference room, can't keep it in the kitchen, can't clean up after himself." He swatted at the bits of banana on his desk with a slightly used Kleenex. "That man has no home training. Damn animal. Needs to be tied up in the yard or kept on a leash or—"

"Uh, Winston?" Chance struck his head around the corner, prepared to beat a hasty retreat if necessary. Armed, trigger-happy terrorists he could handle without breaking a sweat. But his business partner grumbling to himself when they were between clients was another story.

"That man," roared Winston, stabbing a meaty finger at Chance. "That man is never allowed in here again! He can be in the conference room. He can take over your couch. Hell, I surrender! He can have the kitchen! But never, never, ever under any circumstances does he ever get to come into _my_ office again and use _my_ desk. Ever. Do I make myself clear?"

Chance winced sympathetically and moved into the doorway. "Winston…"

"Do you see this?" Winston rattled the trashcan and a few blue and orange wrappers escaped to the floor. He glowered at the thin bits of plastic and they seemed to start inching away from the desk. Probably off to infect the rest of the office. He bet if he poked at them they'd swat back with an offended "dude".

"Candy wrappers?"

"And a banana peel. A rotting, decaying, nasty banana peel. I have no idea how long this stuff has been in here. Definitely before Canada. Probably since the Pellini case." Winston blanched. "That is the last time the bastard was in my office, right?"

"I'm sure Guerrero didn't mean any harm by it. He probably just got wrapped up in the case and, ah, forgot."

Winston grimaced. "Forgot that the trash can was a foot to the right? Forgot that he was at my desk? Or forgot the last time he pulled this stunt we had _ants for two whole months_," he growled, sharp sarcasm coated in sickly sweet honey.

"Um, what was the first option again?" The big blonde bodyguard fidgeted with the change in his pocket, suddenly very interested in counting each and every coin by touch. Twice.

Winston closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to remember the stress exercise stuff Dr. Choy had told him about on his last visit. The stupid, pointless, frou-frou woo-woo stress stuff that he wouldn't even need if he'd just retired— really retired — like he'd intended to. Most retired guys took up gardening or played cards or hung around with their grandkids. Winston, idiot that he was, hadn't been able to settle into his so called "Golden Years". Instead he found himself chasing around the globe with a couple of jackasses who had the combined maturity of a twelve year old. A twelve year old with a giant stash of Halloween candy.

Opening his eyes, he took a good, hard look at his reason for giving up on sun drenched games of shuffleboard aboard the Good Ship Retirement. "Something on your mind?"

Chance's eyes locked with his for a moment before sliding off toward the window. "I was thinking of hocking that Papal ring we got in Canada. Maybe to the museum, to go along with the box and the scroll. Make it a matched set."

Winston waved a hand. "Naw, keep it. It's your kind of thing, anyway. We're okay."

Chance cast a dubious look a Winston's very scientific bill stacking system, which was starting to resemble the Swiss Alps. Winston caught the look and forced a smile. "Really, we're good. We might have to liquidate some other stuff, but we're okay. You can keep the ring at least."

"Well, you're the guy who keeps the books."

"Just no more of that damned Japanese whiskey, okay?" Winston rolled his eyes.

Chance rolled his back. "I told you, it's an investment."

"Yeah. It's an investment. For the guy who throws himself off of mountains on cable car wires. Who gets poisoned, blown up, stabbed, and shot at on a regular basis. For the guy who flips planes upside down." Winston took another breath, Dr. Choy's nagging about blood pressure and heart attacks still ringing in his ears.

"Yes. But we walked away from that, remember? And besides," he said, drumming up a ghost of his trademark devil-may-care smirk, "all that is just the fun stuff."

Winston released the breath and it turned into another weary sigh. There were too many forced smiles in the office over the past couple of days. Chance had been worn, drawn, and strangely quiet since they'd returned from the job at the monastery. He'd also apparently forgotten how to bathe or change out of his ratty gray sweatpants. Winston pointed to his partner again.

"How's the arm?"

"Healing fine." Chance waggled his fingers.

"And your head?"

Chance touched the bandage at his temple. "It's great."

"That thing with your knee?"

"No problems." He shifted.

"And you still thinking about Katherine?"

"Yea- no." Chance's head jerked up and he stared at Winston. "No. _No_. I'm not."

"No, you're not thinking about her, or you're not thinking about her more than usual?" Winston set the trashcan down and gently closed his desk drawer. Best to put everything away before they hit the real meat of this conversation and crap started flying.

"Winston…"

"I saw the way you watched those two kids. Come on, Chance, we've worked together how long? That job was tough on you. Hell, it was tough on me. I had to crawl through the bowels of a damn mountain." Not to mention defuse a bomb. And shoot a thug. And argue with the two-faced man-squirrel who couldn't be bothered to show up when he was called. 'Other job' his black ass.

"It was just a job." Chance crossed his arms over his chest and set his jaw. "We do a lot of jobs like that. Remember the one where you had to pilot that paddle boat down the Mississippi? You weren't too happy about that one, either."

Winston winced. "We are not talking about the time you hijacked a casino. Or the pirates."

"Me? I didn't hijack the casino. _We_ hijacked that casino, Winston." Chance shifted back and forth. Winston was reminded, not for the first time, of a lean lion in a too-small cage.

"And Guerrero pissed off the pirates. The freaking Mississippi river boat pirates, who I still can't believe exist in the first place." He shook his head. Chance's gaze was shuttered tight now, the blue hardening to an ice that Winston was grateful wasn't meant for him. The river rats had winged a few of the passengers, and Chance still hadn't quite gotten over that one. The ex-cop quickly reviewed the last bit of their conversation: pirates, Mississippi, Guerrero… ahh. Winston cleared his throat. "That man's a menace, you know. And not just because he keeps trashing my office and stealing my passwords."

"Guerrero's a good guy to have on a case, Winston. He's good to have at your back." Chance's restless shifting turned out outright pacing. _Here we go_, thought Winston.

"Yeah, when he has your back. When he bothers to show up. It would have been nice if he'd had our back this time around." Winston leaned forward, steepled his fingers. "Do you know he flipped a damn coin when I was trying to defuse that bomb? A _coin_, Chance."

His partner was silent for a long moment and the pacing became prowling. Winston's stomach began to clamor more loudly that r-o-l-a-i-d-s did indeed spell relief, and he spared a moment to wonder if Guerrero had plowed through his stash of antacids after his candy binge.

Finally Chance spoke, a calm and measured tone at odds with his fidgeting. "Guerrero was busy. He's not a partner here, he's a consultant." He shrugged. "He's allowed to have other jobs, Winston."

"Yeah. He is and he does." Winston settled back and Chance stopped to stare at him. "No, really. It's fine that he has clients that aren't us. But this one bugs you. It's been bugging you. Why?"

Chance threw himself down in the leather armchair across from Winston's desk and crossed his ankles. "I'm not bothered." Winston lifted an eyebrow. "I'm not. This is me, not bothered," he said, slapping the sides of the chair.

"Riiight. That's why you're abusing my chair. That's why you had me call him forty damn times when we were on that mountain. That's why he hasn't been around here, not once, since we got back. Because you're not bothered."

Chance's lower lip stuck out a fraction of an inch, a tell Winston was sure was largely unconscious. He didn't envy Chance, caught between his best and oldest friend and his business partner. But it was Winston's job to keep his partner safe. Chance protected idiots who got in over their heads, and Winston protected Chance. That was what a good partner did. Not that Chance made his job any easier. But though he'd never admit it to the younger man, it was a hell of a lot more fun that shuffleboard.

"I'm not bothered. I'm not. It's just that he usually tells me when he's not going to be around for a job. And he didn't tell me this time." Chance rubbed the bridge of his nose, another surefire tell that something was bothering him.

Winston growled. "I wish he wouldn't do that."

"Why not?" Chance shrugged and steepled his hands to mimic Winston. "We're friends. And I get a lot of valuable information out of it. Information we can use."

"Because it makes you an accessory." _You jackass_. "I know he's not exactly helping little old ladies cross the street. I don't care what Boy Scout troop he was in."

"Well, you don't have to worry. Whatever he was doing this time, he didn't tell me." Chance rubbed the bridge of his nose again.

"He hasn't told you _yet_."

"No, but I haven't heard from him in a few days."

Winston grabbed a stack of bills at random and pretended to rifle through them. Chance always got a little edgy when Guerrero hadn't been around for awhile, and it was always best to pretend not to notice. "So he's busy." Or_, God willing, floating somewhere in the Pacific_. "He'll turn up. He always does." _Like a cockroach_.

"Yeah." Chance pasted on another grin and tipped his head back. "You're right."

Damn. "If you're worried, call 'im. Go rattle the bushes at that diner he likes. Set out my left over dinner and wait for him to scuttle over." Winston made a mental note to pick up more Tupperware the next time he went out. And another lock for the fridge.

"I'm not his mother, Winston. Geez." Winston suppressed the urge to chuck the rotten banana peel at Chance, settling for another eye roll.

"So you're worried, but you're not going to try to call him. You're 'not bothered'," he mimed air quotes, "that he didn't show up for the job in Canada. But you're not going to do anything about it." He slapped the pile of envelopes back on his desk. "So are you just going to prowl around here for a few more days, playing video games and pacing the conference room," Chance looked surprised, "until we get another client and you have a reason to check up on him?"

"I am _not_ prowling. Or pacing the conference room. Much." Chance drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair and crossed and recrossed his ankles.

"Please. If you don't stop fussing, I'm going to start spiking your protein shakes with Ritalin."

Chance mouth quirked up, in a real smile this time. "Legal speed? Yeah, Guerrero would get a kick out of you doing that. Of all people."

"Well, it would be something for you two to talk about." All of this talk about talking was beginning to make Winston twitchy himself. He briefly missed his old partner back on the force, a scrawny third-generation Italian man with a bulldog of a wife. Sofia may have been scary, but she kept Teddy stable and saved Winston from conversations like this one. He added a fruit basket to his mental shopping list.

"Guerrero and I don't talk. Neither of us is exactly big on mushy, work out our problems, heart-to-heart Dr. Phil crap." Chance ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end.

"Do I look like a crazy Texan headshrinker? You're the one with his books on your shelves. Personally, I'd be happy to avoid the mush myself." A giant fruit basket. With some chocolate. And maybe some of those flower bath products women liked so much. Chance would know what to get.

"You're not Guerrero."

Winston leveled a Look at him over his glasses. "Really."

Chance shot Winston his best 'I'm an innocent deer in the headlights, nothing to see here' look. Winston slipped off his glasses and rubbed them carefully on his shirt. "No, I'm your partner. Sometimes I feel like your AA sponsor." He peered through his glasses, making sure they were clean and sneaking a look at Chance. Who looked marginally uncomfortable. _Good_. "I'm also your friend. Mostly I want to make sure you've got your head on straight so we don't get blown up or shot on our next case."

Chance sat up straight and brought his hands down on his knees. "I'm fine. And I'm not an alcoholic. My head's fine." He tapped the bandage again. "Right where it should be."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

Winston sighed and let it go. Short of either Chance or Guerrero getting a full personality transplant or learning to use a phone for something other than business reasons, there was only one surefire way to snap Chance out of his three day funk.

What had his life become when it seemed like a good idea to distract the one of the deadliest men in the world with a squad of assassins because he was too stubborn to pick up the phone and check up on his scumbag of a best friend? He had given up shuffleboard, early bird dinner specials, and drinks with tiny umbrellas in them for this.

"Good. Because we might have a new client. Assistant DA. Referred by an old friend from the force." _And for that, Teddy, you get a basket, too_. "Says people are trying to kill her. Which isn't unusual, for someone who works on the stuff she works on."

For the first time since they'd left Port Cartier, Chance looked like he was fully part of the world again. "What kind of trying to kill her?"

"The kind where people ambush her with guns in remote state parks. She's involved in prosecuting Westland gang members." Winston locked eyes with Chance. "So there might be a lot of people with guns."

A grin split Chance's face and he bounced to his feet. "That sounds great!"

"Yeah. Wonderful," deadpanned his partner. "Just remember, this is a nice lady. So maybe you could change out of those sweatpants and grab a damn shower?" Chance was already out the door and half way up the stairs. "She's coming at 2 o'clock! Be ready," Winston yelled after him.

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his scalp. This morning's shave hadn't been quite close enough. He'd be more careful, and less worried about Chance, tomorrow.

Which reminded him. Winston unholstered his phone and hit speed dial 2 without glancing at the screen.

"This is Guerrero."

"How kind of you to answer your phone for once." Winston wondered why he'd never gotten a dart board for his office. One with a picture of Guerrero's face as the target. Just for something to do with his hands at times like this.

"Look, dude, I'm kind of in the middle of something. What do you need?"

He swore one day he'd find a way to reach through the phone and throttle the little creep. But for now, Winston would settle for killing with kindness. "We've got a job coming up. Local this time. In town. Might start today or tomorrow. You going to be available for this one?"

"I could move some things around. Clear my schedule. Any idea what you're gonna need for it?"

The tiny muscles under Winston's right eye began to dance. "I'm 'gonna need' you to answer your phone. Especially if Chance calls. You got me?"

"Chill, dude. Take a breath."

"Chance jumped off a damn mountain earlier this week." There was a long pause and Winston could hear pounding waves and high pitched shrieks in the background. "Are you at the _beach_?"

"Yeah, I'm having a picnic. When you say 'jumped off a mountain'…?"

"I mean there was a mountain and Chance jumped off of it. Zip-lined down to a cable car, and got into a fistfight with a heavily armed psychopath eight hundred feet in the air. Because someone promised us a helicopter that never materialized." Winston held his breath and heard the distinct squeak of boots on sand. Maybe he'd find a way to spike Guerrero's food too. What was it about ex-criminals and their inability to stand still?

"New gig. Gotcha. I'll be available. For my usual fee. Just gotta clean out my car first."

"You have to clean out your—" the line went dead. Winston looked at his phone for a moment and then hit "redial".

"Dude, _what_?"

"If you ever leave a pile of crap in my desk again, I'll throw _you_ off a mountain. You got me?" He stabbed the off button and tossed the phone on his desk. And began to grin. It was only ten in the morning but between the prospect of a well-connected new client, pulling Chance out of his doldrums, and getting the last word with Guerrero, today was off to a pretty good start.

Winston whistled as he fished the last of the candy wrappers from his desk and stamped them down in the garbage can.


End file.
